

6ARTH SONGS 

MARY CHAPIN SMITH 





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Book 

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Earth Songs 



MARY CHAPIN SMITH 




^ARTI et V6RITA ri]H 1 



BOSTON 
RICHARD G. BADGER 

THE GORHAM PRESS 
1910 



Copyright 1910 by Mary Chapin Smith 



All Rights Reserved 






The author wishes to thank the editors of 
Watson's Jeffersonian Magazine, the Journal of 
Outdoor Life, the Taylor- Trotwood Magazine, and 
Book News for permission to include in this vol- 
ume such poems as originally appeared in their 
pages. 



The Gobham Pbess, Boston , U. S. A. 



5)0! A2 5-020 



To My Husband, 

Joyous friend and comrade, whose consideration 
has made this little book possible for me; maker 
of pleasant gardens, where one may dwell in the 
fine companionship of the birds and trees and 
under the airs of heaven, with Nature's ancient 
manuscript open wide, and writ in divers lan- 
guages. 



To My Mother, 

Whose eyes were ever turned to the stars, and 
where she walked the flowers of goodness and 
beauty followed her. 



Highlands, North Carolina 
March 2, 1909 



Sweet Mother Earth 

Death paused awhile without my door; 

I did not hid him enter in. 

For joys of Paradise can nevermore 

Seem sweeter than they seem, in sjyite of sin 

And wo, the joys of this dear earth; 

Sweet earth, so wise and kind, so full of gentle 

mirth 
Made soft hy all the sorrow that underlies: — 
Dear Mother Earth, in thy deep eyes 
Dwell things unutterable; thy secrets but to learn. 
Thy raptures fine to know, and feel the thrill 
Of thy soft mother arms encircling still. 
For this my heart doth ever yearn 
And will alway, though I may hear the fi,ow 
Of streams eternal, and hills of Paradise may 

know. 



CONTENTS 

Dedication 5 

Sweet Mother Earth 7 

{Asheville Magazine, May, 1907) 

The Changing Year 

Theocritus 19 

{Watson's Jeffersonian Magazine, September, 1907) 

Largess 21 

(Watson's Jeffersonian Magazine, September, 1908) 

Gold of Dawn 22 

One Spring Day 23 

{Journal of Outdoor Life, May, 1909) 

Song : Spring-time 23 

Aprille 24 

{Asheville Magazine, April, 1907) 

Madrigal: Invitation of the Morning 25 

{Journal of Outdoor Life, June, 1908) 

The Lake 26 

Where Running Waters Flow 27 

{Asheville Magazine, March, 1907) 

Serenade: The Message 30 

{Watson's Jeffersonian Magazine, December, 1907) 

Evening Primrose 31 

{Journal of Outdoor Life, June, 1909) 

The Dark 31 

(Journal of Outdoor Life, August, 1907) 

A Summer Night 32 

The Mushroom Lady Goes 33 

9 



CONTENTS 

Spiranthes 33 

{Journal of Outdoor Life, September, 1907) 

In the Tent 34 

Song: The Swallow 35 

{Watsori's Jeffersonian Magazine, May, 1908) 

A November Dandelion 36 

(Watson's Jeffersonian Magazine, November, 1908) 

Friends 36 

Impressions : 

I. November Days 38 

(Journal of Outdoor Life, October, 1908) 

II. November Eves 39 

{Journal of Outdoor Life, November, 1908) 

III. November Skies 40 

{Journal of Outdoor Life, November, 1907) 

IV. A December Dawn 41 

{Journal of Outdoor Life, December, 1907) 

At Night 41 

{Asheville Magazine, June, 1907) 

The Festival of the Fluttering Wings 42 

{Journal of Outdoor Life, January, 1908) 
Two Morning Pictures: 

I. Winter 43 

II. Summer 44 

{Journal of Outdoor Life, March, 1909) 

A Sound of the Night 45 

A Cobweb of Pale Fire 47 

To the Blue Ridge Mountains 47 

{Atlanta Constitution, August, 1906) 
10 



CONTENTS 

Dear Mother Nature, Take Me Back 49 

(Watson's Jeffersonian Magazine, November, 1907) 

Earth Songs 

Memory 53 

Life and Love 57 

The Devil's Hunting 58 

(Watson's Jeffersonian Magazine, March, 1908) 

The Singing Monk 59 

The Seeker 61 

Only in Dreams I See Thee 61 

(Watson's Weekly Jeffersonian, October, 1908) 

A Room in June 62 

Tulips 63 

Life 64 

Song : O Wind from Western Skies 65 

Comprehension 67 

(Taylor- Trotwood Magazine, June, 1908) 

The Coming Guest 68 

The Voices 69 

An Old Garden 70 

(Taylor- Trotwood Magazine, February, 1908) 

Cavalier and Puritan 72 

Beloved Ghosts 73 

My Saint: C. L. C 74 

The Victors 75 

Confession 77 

(Watson's Jeffersonian Magazine, February, 1908) 
11 



CONTENTS 

Two Souls 77 

(Watson's Jeffersonian Magazine, March, 1909) 

The Jerusalem Chamber of the Soul 79 

(Journal of Outdoor Life, December, 1908) 

Shadow Dance 80 

The Constant Lovers 

I. The Lament 84 

II. The Search 85 

Melancholy . 86 

Contrasts 

I. Fate 88 

(Asheville Magazine, May, 1907) 

11. God's Care 88 

Benedicite 89 

And After.? 91 

(Watson's Jeffersonian Magazine, May, 1907) 

The Soul's Quest 93 

Salut! (Alfred Dreyfus; July, 1906) 94 

Horus Ever Weighs the Naked Heart 95 

"And on the fourth are men with growing 
wings." Tennyson: The Holy Grail.... 97 

Peace on Earth : 100 

(Watson's Jeffersonian Magazine, December, 1907) 

Carol : Christmas Chimes 100 

(Journal of Outdoor Life, January, 1909) 

The Holy Child 101 

(Watson's Jeffersonian Magazine, December, 1908) 
Quatrains 

I. Threads of Gold 103 

12 



CONTENTS 

II. Time's Arrows 103 

{Asheville Magazine, March, 1907) 

III. Glorias 104 

{Asheville Magazine, April, 1907) 

IV. Promises 104 

(Asheville Magazine, April, 1907) 
V. Tears. 104 

Laurel Leaves 

The Sonnet: To the Masters of Song 107 

The Poet's Song 108 

Shelley 109 

(Book News Monthly, June, 1908) 

To Sidney Lanier 110 

MacDowell's Brook: To the Lady Who Plays 

(Mrs. J. H. S.) Ill 

Sonnets 

Apology 115 

Fantasies 116 

(Watson's Jeffersonian Magazine, October, 1907) 

Strivings 117 

(Watson's Jeffersonian Magazine, April, 1907) 

Twilight 118 

(Watson's Jeffersonian Magazine, June, 1907) 
Portrait of Mrs. Wheaton, by Alexander.. . . 119 
(Life of Eliza Baylies Wheaton, 
Riverside Press, Cambridge, 1907) 
13 



CONTENTS 

The Sea: 

I. For many years the hills, and now the 

sea! 120 

II. Mother of Mysteries, thy secrets keep. . . 121 

III. For thou art old and wicked, though 

most fair, — 122 

IV. What dim remembrances may yet enslave 1 23 

V. The overpowering roar and rush of sound 124 

VI. All softly clad, in cloud and light en- 

shrined, 125 



14 



THE CHANGING YEAR 

And the winds that follow on so fleet ^ 
In the sparkling trails of vanished gloom. 
Are heavenly sioeet 

With the breath of early flowers a-hloom. 
While the world is a heaving, trembling sea 
Of sight and sound, and of Life to be. 



Now the pale primrose offers up 
Her precious golden cup. 
Whence pure, celestial odors flow. 
(Golden censers from heaven swing low.) 



15 



Gone the spiral stairway's trace 
Where the white spiranthes climbed. 
Gone the slender saffron's grace, 
Following where the frost bells chimed. 



The tvhite-winged snow falls down most silently 
And softly in large flakes, like many small 
White birds that fly to earth; the snowbirds come 
With fluttering wings, alighting on the tree. 
The little tree that is their resting place. 
Their fluffy feathers white like heaps of snow 
Upon the limbs; they come in endless flight. 
Blown through the air and dropping down to 

earth. 
As swift and silent as the falling snow. 



16 



THE CHANGING YEAR 



17 



THEOCRITUS 

While time dwells on the earth, the world's warm 

hand 
Shall reach far out into the dark 
To seek thine own, Theocritus. 
Long as the ardent air remembers to be thrilled 
With sweetest sounds, shall ear be bent to catch 
Those strains from earlier dawn, so wild and free: 
Down the worn centuries has that procession filed, 
Of shining shapes from days when time was young, 
Touched with immortal youth, whose constant 

flame 
The gloom of ages cannot quench. 

While this green earth doth hold 

A lover of the hills and fields 

Or soul most sick of cities' roar and ruck. 

Pining for scents and sounds of sweeter air 

So long shall thy fair flocks 

Wind leisurely the hill of dreams, thy nightingales 

Make moonlit thickets ring, 

Sicilian airs float soft enchantment o'er our heads. 

We still may hear from distant marsh, as Hercules 

in other days. 
The long-lost Hylas faintly calling, crying, 
Imprisoned in his watery home amid the rushes 

green : 
Thyrsis, by wolf bereft, shall ever weep 
For playful kid, his darling pet and pride, 
While singing herdsmen thi'ough the years contend 
19 



In melodies each sweeter than the last; 

And later loves 

Shall laugh at love-lorn Polypheme, 

Piping to Galatea, and see shake 

The rough and hairy sides of Pan, whose little 

hoofs 
Keep frolic step to sylvan dance; 
In lonely gardens ever may they watch. 
Through mystic laurel boughs under the night's 

pale sheen. 
The wan Simaetha, passion-fired, invoke the 

Lady Moon, 
As, sighing yet, she turns her magic wheel; 
And for all time, while love and song work to the 

heart's undoing, 
Daphnis to nymphs and shepherds still shall sing 
His melting lays, and play the flute 
To ravishment of mortal ears, 
And still forever will he die of love; 
The tuneful Thyrsis daily mourns for him. 
While wolf and goat and lowing kine cry out 

their grief. 
And birds and flowers and trees, confounded, go 

astray. 

Oft piercing through the tliick and murky air 
Of many weary and discordant years, 
We hear thy far-off song, Theocritus. 
It comes in music of the rills and streams. 
The trill of birds, borne on the flying clouds. 
In the white sea waves' laughing rush. 
20 



The violets' eyes still speak of thee; 

The grassy pastures soft are but thy bed. 

Haunted of dreams. 

The pines thy night song, and the hills thy guard. 

Nature herself, and love and passion wild. 

Eternally are thine. 

LARGESS 

Wide, overarching roof of air, 
Starshine and sunshine are enough. 
Earth is too full of beauty unsolicited: 
Her regal state and lordly ministers. 
Her glowing pageants as they pass, 
Are all too much for her fond lover, passion-pale. 
And choked for utterance. Fair Eastern rose. 
And Dawn, a shy, reluctant bride. 
Slow lingering up the way; 
The slender crescent boat that glides along, 
Swift sailing over seas of light, through scud- 
ding clouds of foam. 
The tireless stars that seek no rest. 
And white path leading out 
Through whirling diamond dust, by rifts of dark, 
To those eternal fields of space invisible; 
That happy comrade of the shining face. 
Heart of the Day, Life of the rolling world, 
Whose faithful course 
While untold ages drift and disappear 
Is charted on the upper depths of blue: 
These fine, celestial splendors are enough; 
21 



The largess that the fair Earth grants 
From wanton joy of giving, is overmuch to hold; 
Darkness and light, the pomp and endless train 
Of Night and Day, the heavens are enough. 

GOLD OF DAWN 

Golden windows at morn, 
And the earth is new-born! 
Golden windows in the west. 
And the young earth at its best. 
Soft the wizardry of grace 
In the pine trees' dawning face; 
Sweet the ripple of streams, 
Gray skies with pearl gleams 
Are unfurling, unfurled. 
Green trees from a strange world 
(The hemlocks of dreams). 
Mossy planes cut and curled. 
With glints of strayed gold, 
Seem new and yet old. 
Unearthly, most fair, 
Wrapped in mystical air 
In the freshness of day 
And shadowed with gray. 
Skies of gray and shafts of gold, 
Floods of gold and shafts of gray, 
Interchanging, at play. 
In the swiftness of day, 
In the on-rushing day. 
Golden windows at morn. 
And the world is new-born! 
22 



ONE SPRING DAY 

I think that he forgot, maybe. 

To rise in the east from a purple sea 

Of rolHng clouds, in amber glory; 

But the sun rose over in the west to-day 

In sunrise lines of rose and gray. 

And the fine footfall of May 

Comes lightly down the April way; 

Her feet are shod with silver shoon 

Made from the horns of a crescent moon. 

And the winds that follow on so fleet 

In the sparkling trails of vanished gloom. 

Are heavenly sweet 

With the breath of early flowers a-bloom. 

While the world is a heaving, trembling sea 

Of sight and sound, and of Life to be. 



SPRINGTIME 

Song 

Love's in the world! 
His bright banner is unfurled 
On your cheek; 
And why will you not speak. 
When the sun's riding high 
In the sky, 

And the little white clouds laugh together 
In the clear weather, 
And the bluebirds are mating, 
23 



Not a note of their love song abating; 

The robins are all in a twitter, 

The dewdrops in a fine glitter 

On the grass 

As you pass, 

With the apple blooms falling around you, 

My heart singing because it has found you. 

Sweet, will you not speak 

While Love's in the world. 

While his rose-red flag is unfurled 

On your cheek ? 

APRILLE 

Fair, sweet Aprille, wayward child 
Of summer dawns and winter wild, 
Comes dancing, smiling up the way, — 
So long her coming, short her stay! 

Soon follows on her welcome train. 
Swift beams of sun and tender rain, 
Warm, languorous days and frosty nights, 
And blissful hints of vague delights 
That fill the hazy atmosphere 
With soft, dim promise of the year: 

Promise that every hour is heard 
In peep of hylas, trill of bird, 
In silvery plash of loosened streams. 
In quickened pulse and moonlit dreams. 
In lights that gleam through sudden showers. 
In primrose skies and primrose flowers; 
24 



In willows clad in golden gray. 
In violets' eyes upturned to day, 
In shadows on brown, furrowed earth. 
In budding trees, and wondrous birth 
Of the green grass that slips along 
O'er all the ground to time of song. 

O sweet Aprille, darling child. 
Could we but tame thee, heart so wild, 
We'd hold thee for a longer stay. 
And hear thy promises alway. 

INVITATION OF THE MORNING 

Madrigal 

O come with me, the morning calls. 
Come out from towering city walls. 
To dancing step and singing rhyme 
And far-off flutes of morning time. 

Come hither. Love, — with hand in hand. 
Now enter we another land. 
Where light falls down in golden rain 
On glades where spotted deer have lain; 

Where silver bells on little trees 
Are ringing, singing, in the breeze. 
And laurel crowns I'll deftly twine 
For th)' dear head, O Love of mine! 

Drink deep the wine of life to-day 
Down where the running waters play. 
Where happy thrushes are in tune, — 
O come with me, my Rose of June! 
25 



Age after youth, death after life, 
Time's wheel brings sorrow, joy, and strife 
But life is now, and life is best, 
Drink deep the joy, forget the rest. 

Pale Yesterday was sore betrayed, 
To-day flies free and unafraid; 
Now know we not the veiled To-morrow, 
Her pearls of grief we may not borrow. 

Now happiness lurks everywhere, 
Soft clouds run by in fields of air, — 
Small sheep are they that Love displays; — 
Come, shepherdess of milk-white days. 

Come tend your flock where birches green 
Shade banks of moss and flowers between; 
Come where the running waters play, 
For Life and Love are one to-day. 

THE LAKE 

Beside the lake I'll sit and watch until the linger- 
ing day is done 

The little dancing fleets go by, of silver sparkles 
in the sun; 

One little silver fleet sails by, and then goes on- 
ward out of sight, 

And others pass on endlessly, straight through 
the blinding, shining light. 
26 



Upon the narrow, shallow shore, the fluent waves 

that come and go 
Are making golden lace reflections on the pebbly 

sands below; 

The water spiders jump and dive down with 

their bubbles, then they float. 
Their concave water shoes so quaint like shiny 

paddles to a boat. 

The scattered flocks of fleecy sheep are lying in 

the tranquil sky. 
While down below beneath the lake yet other 

small white sheep do lie. 

WHERE RUNNING WATERS FLOW 

In shelter of an ancient mill I'll build a roof of 

hemlock bark. 
And there I'll stay through shining suns, and then 

through rains and wintry dark, 

And listen to the constant rush of water over dam 

and rock. 
Where thought is lost in restless whirl, just like 

a floating stick or block. 

Caught in the swift, wild eddying tide, borne 

onward with tumultuous flow. 
That endlessly through sun and storm pours down 

the darkening gorge below; 

27 



Where winds and waters sweeping by chant 

mighty diapasons deep. 
In solemn tones of ebb and flow that lull the 

brain to dreamless sleep. 

Some day I'll build a wattled hut, and dwell 

beside a singing stream. 
To hear at night the chiming waves, far sounding, 

ringing in my dream; 

To rest me in its quiet bed, and let soft ripples 

kindly flow 
Around me with their gentle plash, and sweet, 

continual murmuring low. 

O running stream, dear rippling stream, come 

near and sing a song to me. 
Thou limpid waters, swiftly flowing, flowing ever 

to the sea; 

Sing of the laurel-shaded springs that shine as 

clear as truest eyes. 
Bordered with dewy moss and fern, and bluets 

fallen from the skies; 

Sing of the winds in willow trees that blow in 

waves of light along 
The countless, bending, whitened boughs, the 

winds that breathe a whispering song. 

And play all day with yellow birds and little gray 
and olive leaves, — 

The winds that toss the glinting hair of brown- 
eyed maid with broidered sleeves; 
28 



Sing of the pastures rich in bloom, where butter- 
flies whirl in the sun, 

Above the flowers of St. John, transformed from 
winter's bronzy dun 

To living, quivering gold and green, of interwoven 
masses low, — 

A net to hold the wandering flash of every sun- 
beam's brightest glow; 

Where large-eyed cows like timid deer stand 

knee-deep in the waving grass. 
And turn their long, reflective gaze on all the 

merry folk that pass; 

Where speckled trout are darting by over the 

clean wliite gravel bed 
Of running brooks and shadowy pools; where 

bees are droning overhead; 

Sing of azaleas bending down along the water 

lanes to drink, — 
Fair-petaled snow-wreaths flushed with rose; — 

there is no other flower, I think. 

So lovely and so white and pink, so darling and 

so honey-sweet, 
Threading the tangled way of stream for many 

miles with dainty feet; — 

I'd dwell within their greenery as safe as any 
dryad of old, 

29 



Transplanted to these later days from out the 
happy age of gold. 

O running waters, whispering wind, sing ever 

on so soft and low, 
And floods outpouring loud and deep, sing always 

with your endless flow. 

THE MESSAGE 
Serenade 

Sail on! thou swift and silent moon. 

Through changing clouds of silver light: 
Be not too swift, but stay thy flight 

The while I ask of thee a boon. 

Look down, I pray, from heights above, 
Diana of the shining bow; 
Let thy unerring shafts fly low. 

Thy arrows tipped with moonbeams 
white. 
To bear this message to my love: 

For me the murmur of the pine 

Through the still, perfect summer night; 
For thee the waters lapped in light, 
For thee the surge of restless sea. 
Though time and space have fought for thee, 
They cannot part my love from me; 
While earth rolls on and stars still shine. 
My soul is thine and thou art mine ! 
30 



EVENING PRIMROSE 

Now the pale primrose offers up 
Her precious golden cup, 
Whence pure and heavenly odors flow. 
(Golden censers from heaven swing low.) 

Daughter of cloudy days 

And quiet, untroubled ways, 

Tall priestess of the Night and the still 

moonlight, — 
Her seven vestals without blame 
Hold the seven golden candlesticks aflame. 
(A wind from the mist, a little young wind, is 

singing, singing low. 
Sweet airs of heaven blow. 
Golden censers from heaven swing low.) 

THE DARK 

Beloved Children of the wandering Air, 
Spirits of twilight and the mist. 
Fan me with rush of gossamer wings, 
And sing to me thy cradle songs of dream- 
less sleep; — 
Wild elemental cadences 
That rise and fall, and come and go. 
And pass away, beyond, afar, in finer strains 
Than those vibrations that record their rune 
Upon the wind-swept harp of mortal ear. 

Come and possess my soul, 
O hovering, brooding Presence of the Dark, 
31 



Stealing upon the spirit unaware, 

Softly enfolding with the wings of Night. 

Let gentle sighs waft down from murmuring 

pines, 
And breathe their tale of winds and waves 
And mysteries old, — more ancient than tlie 

earth : 
Wrap me within thy heart of rest, 
O Presence of the Dark, 

That broods upon the troubled waters of my soul. 
Bringing from tumult, peace. 

A SUMMER NIGHT 

Pale flowers of evening scent the cool, wet night. 
Dark gleams from evergreens flash back the 

passing light. 
Clouds part, revealing to the sight 
One large, lone star, remote and calm and bright. 
Set high to watch and guide our dreams aright. 
Fresh odors rise from the damp earth, from filmy, 

fragrant ferns, 
The springy turf yields to the tread. 
The slender fingers of the pine shake down upon 

the head 
Great drops of benediction. Nature yearns 
And ever turns 

With outstretched arms and heart that burns 
In flame of tender love, to clasp her" child. 
And soothe to rest and sleep with notes both 

sweet and wild. 

32 



THE MUSHROOM LADY GOES 

Mourn, streams and lanes and forest walks. 

The Mushroom Lady goes; 
She leaves behind the changing wood, 
The yellow ferns, the autumn wind. 
The hills in winter's purple veil. 

The falling of the snows; 
May kind fate send her back before 

The coming of the rose. 

SPIRANTHES 

Pale, pure Spiranthes, faintly sweet. 
From twisted stem looks up to greet 
The wayfarer, where grassy lanes 
Are cushioned soft for wandering feet. 



33 



IN THE TENT 

The wild black horses of the night, 
Those steeds of wind and rain, 

Sweep on in dark, tempestuous flight 
Across the little plain, 

That lies within the mountains' arms, 
So gently lapped in vain. 

Far, far away, like moan or sigh. 

They come as breakers roll; 
With whistling shriek they rush on by 

Down to the raging shoal; 
Down the dark gorge they disappear 

And quiet for a breath is here. 

Still on they come and on they go, 
These troops of wind and rain; 

The lantern flares and flickers low. 
The stay-ropes creak and strain; 

The tent roof flaps with angry blare. 
Thunder gods roar with pain. 

The storm is over, fresh air sweeps 

In from the outer night; 
Peace passes by and slumber keeps 

Fair guard with dreams of light; 
The angry blast has ceased to rave. 

And we are safe and warm; 
"None but the brave, none but the brave," 

The brave deserve the storm. 
34 



THE SWALLOW 

Song 

Swallow, to the home of the South Wind, my 
swallow. 

Why dost thou linger in the cold, whirling blast ? 

Gather thy flocks, fly onward, fly fast. 
Fly to the wide river, O iris-winged swallow. 
And the day that thou goest then I will soon follow. 

Fly to my little one, O shining swallow. 

My little one with the heart of fire, ray love. 
With the spirit of dew and the eyes of a dove; 
By this thou wilt know her, swallow, my swallow, 
And whenever thou findest her I will soon follow. 

Fly to the orange groves, bright Autumn swallow 

The petals are falling on her bonny brown hair. 

The light winds are kissing her flower-face there; 

Flutter and tell her, dear messenger swallow. 

To the land where thou fliest there I shall soon 

follow. 

Sweetheart, he flies to the South, the bright 
swallow, 
And my heart flies after him out of my breast. 
Flies swiftly to thee like a bird to its nest ; 
O sweetheart, O true heart, watch for the swallow, 
To the land of the shining wings I shall soon 
follow. 



35 



A NOVEMBER DANDELION 

Flower of stars, O heart of gold! 

Clinging to earth in fading grass, 
Careless of all the biting cold. 

Unheeding wintry winds that pass. 

Gone the spiral stairway's trace 

Where the white spiranthes climbed. 

Gone the strange, pure saffron's grace. 

Following where the frost bells chimed. 

Indian summer's in the air; 

A belated butterfly. 
Little knowing time or care. 

In the sunshine flutters by. 

Swiftly Cometh frozen night: 

Flower of stars, to dreams return, — 
Goldfinches in beams of light. 

Skies that smile and suns that burn. 

FRIENDS 

The wild hare leaps before my door. 
In the sweet grass I find her form. 
Her nest with babies brown and warm; 
The squirrel keeps his nutty store 
In the tall tree above my seat, 
The tracks of little bounding feet 
Mark all the snowy front-door path; 
The startling zizz-z of mimic wrath 
36 



Is heard from Carolina wren, 
That dashes into homes of men, 
Unknowing the way out again. 
Pet cats, well trained in righteousness. 
Curl in the sun, where snowbirds bless 
The air with whir of cooling wings. 
While Signer Catbird tilts and sings. 
The phoebe, curious and demure. 
Sits looking in my window, sure 
Of safety and of comradeship; 
The thrasher eats the softened bread. 
The catbird stands upon his head 
With many a nervous dip and flip 
To steal my pokeberries; unknown 
It is to him that flower was blown 
And sturdy stalk and branch were left 
For just this gentle, winsome theft. 

The Golden Calf, whose beauty wins 
Free title to her many sins. 
Tosses the heaps of fresh-raked leaves 
With mischief in her eyes; nor grieves 
The mistress of this pampered beast 
At wanton wreck of labor spent, 
For from the greatest to the least 
The beasties all pay willing rent 
In love and service, well content. 
With friendly word of tenderness 
My face I hold in fond caress 
Close to the bay mare's velvet cheek 
(She only lacks the power to speak), 
37 



And reckless of a future schism 
Propound the newer catechism; 
Ask, Why was man placed here below? 
To love the creatures, that I know, 
And make them happy as they go! 

IMPRESSIONS 

. J. November Days 

Swift morning rays reveal a world transformed, — 
The jeweled glitter of fine frost upon the tree. 
The bush, the brier, the bending weed. 
In bluish silver of the glistening grass, — 
One moment here, then gone like lightning flash. 

* * * 

Far distant fires create a wreath of haze, 
A pale blue smoke over the wreath of hills. 
Weaving a thin, transparent veil on everything 

that is; 
A world invoked by Merlin's wand, intangible, 

unreal, 
That may at any moment disappear. 

* * * 

The dead-leaf brown and soft pale yellow of 
perfect fallen leaves, 

Piled thick in rustling carpets on the ground. 

Absorb and quietly reflect the mellow light of 
afternoons 

From slanting sunshine through the sleepy wood- 
lands bare. 

* * * 

38 



Pine needles in dull gold cover the trodden earth 

And kindly cushion all the seats, 

Inviting lazy folk to loaf: 

And here and there a faint, elusive scent, like 

heliotrope, 
From sweet decaying wood and fragrant drying 

grass, 
Comes borne in sudden, unexpected waves on 

the cool air. 

II. November Eves 

The orchid skies of still November eves 

Play harmonies of color up above. 

While down below small, dear familiar birds 

Come homing back to sleep in shelter of the friend- 
ly roof: 

These flowers of heaven fade; swift silence and a 
sudden dark 

Drop like a garment on the resting earth; then 
in a little space 

The golden moon, a huge, colossal moon, a proper 
courting moon. 

Climbs up the branches of the trees and later 
says Good night, peeping between 

Enormous soft white feathery plumes that reach 
across the sky. 



39 



III. November Skies 

The orchid skies that flush the quivering east 
FHng out their last farewell to the dying west 
In long celestial petals of light rose, 
Rose-purples, tender gray, and mauve (all tints 

and tones divine. 
Repeated on the earth in rarest flower and shell), 
Faint yellow, golden brown, and softest fawn, 
And down below in level lines 
A hint and flicker of a beryl green. 

A few brown withered leaves, alone, and bare 

stripped boughs. 
Stand still as to be etched 
In outlines dark upon the trembling eastern 

heavens. 
In the cool gray north the thick blue smoke is 

curling up 
Against the rich green wall of towering pines. 
While in the fleckless southern sky, long hours 

arisen, 
The solitary, small, round moon is riding high. 
Quite pale with love for the departing sun. 



40 



IV. A December Dawn 

The finger of soft silence on the sleeping world 
Enwrapped in veils of mist; 
Long lines of dimmest gray and dreams of rose; 
A little thin-lipped, curving moon, a tenuous 

thread of floss. 
Companioned by the glorious morning star, and 

following on, 
A baby star just faintly breathing light 
In yonder regions of the outer space: 
All stillness waiting for the lingering morn. 

AT NIGHT 

No star-beam trembles down the skies. 
The moon withholds her light; 
The velvet hand of Night 
Is laid upon the weary eyes. 
While the vexed soul is folded calm 
Beneath the brooding wings of Dark; 
And Silence, in her passing fleet, 
Leaves on the trail of silvery feet 
Soft winds of odorous balm. 
And distant, sweet Eolian strains. 
Those evanescent, lost refrains 
Forever wandering on the air. 
To find some heart in waiting there. 



41 



THE FESTIVAL OF THE FLUTTERING 
WINGS 

In that fair land upon the other side, 
All in the soft springtime the people go 
To their beloved cherry blossom fetes, 
Where small pink petals shower down to earth 
Like storms of butterflies, while on the boughs 
Are pendant scrolls writ o'er with springlike 

thoughts. 
For flower-decked maids in rainbow robes to read. 
No cherry blossom festival have we; 
Our feast in cold and stern midwinter comes, 
And scrolls are writ full large in hieroglyphs 
Of seed and meal on many a window ledge. 
For little people of the air to scan. 
* * * 

The feast is spread upon the window ledge: 
The white-winged snow falls down most silently 
And softly in large flakes, like many small 
White birds that fly to earth; the snowbirds come 
With fluttering wings, alighting on the tree. 
The little tree that is their resting place. 
Their fluffy feathers white like heaps of snow 
Upon the limbs; they come in endless flight, 
Blown through the air and dropping down to 

earth, 
As swift and silent as the falling snow: 
Then to their feast upon the window ledge, 
With pleasant chirp and long, uplifted look 
To peer in through the glass; with hairlike trills 
42 



And runs, and little jostles and short flights, 
And flutter of small fans that open and shut. 
As they keep coming, going, changing place, 
A soft, bewildering whirl of drifting birds 
And falling flakes, a storm of downy breasts. 
Swift flights of feathered snowflakes through the air ; 
The happy festival of fluttering wings. 

TWO MORNING PICTURES 

I. Winter 

Snow on the ground, snow on the trees, the pines 
And hemlocks huddled close for warmth and 

company; 
The near-by laurels tall and old, their few leaves 

dark and glistening. 
Their twisted limbs turned gray with ancient 

lichen, white with snow. 
Big with their fluffed-out feathers and sitting 

all in rows, 
For once in voiceless hush, eight calm, contem- 
plative blue jays, 
Their soft gray breasts turned facing to the east 

to greet 
The level rays of morning sun and feel their 

warmth. 
O harmony of white and blue and gray! 
Soft gray and white on breasts, in little clouds above, 
In shadows on the snow, in lichens on the laurel 

limbs ; 
Whitefeathers of the bird, white feathers of thesnow, 
43 



Both lightly piled on evergreens ; a little turn of head 
Or movement of the wings, a sunbeam's flash, — 
And blue and purple filched from sky and sea, 
From sapphires in the earth; the background still 
Of mossy hemlock, slender tassels of the pine, 
The dark and shining laurel leaves. 

II. Summer 

The morning hour, the upper room, 

A call to look out of the window, and a window 

framed 
With tangled vines. Beyond, the grass ; above, the 

boughs of oaks 
That reach to the blue sky; just underneath, a 

little garden spot, 
All wreathed about outside with shrubs and tall 

perennials 
Like fond, protecting arms, 
And safe within, some beds of flowers bordered 

round 
With a low and mossy sedum in rich green; 
Everything freshly washed in sweet night dews, 

bright with the morning sun. 
Pansies were there, all radiant, rich velvet pur- 
ples and dark blues. 
And clear, light china blues, with sprinkling of 

bright gold, maroons and deepest wines. 
I looked below: within the charmed circle of the 

pansy bed. 
That fairy ring of mossy green, were five blue jays, 
44 



Blessed with a virtuous desire to add to this rich 

wealth 
Of glowing color, all their fair fortune of infinitely 

varying blues, 
From darkest shade to lightest tint, their dashes 

of black and white 
And cloudings of tender gray; while pressing close 

about, 
Dreamy and wondering, were velvet pansy faces 

looking up 
In mild astonishment; — a choice mosaic, jewel-set, 
Right in the very heart of all the summer's greenery. 

A SOUND OF THE NIGHT 

I leaned far out into the night, to seek 

A wandering sound, a small ghost of the air. 

The dimmest starlight shone, — more like a glim- 
mering dark, — 

The fresh, damp wind swept by, 

The rush of falling waters smote the ear and died 
away. 

It was the earliest morn in that late month 

When winter dreams of spring, 

Preceding by the hour the lusty crowing of the cock 

And by the many weeks the swelling chorus of 
the dawn. 

The winged minstrels of the night seek other 
climes. 

They dwell not here; 

And yet there came a note blown hither by the wind, 
45 



At first the faint, sweet shadow of a sound, 
Brought forth at intervals from tall treetops 
That climbed the hill beyond; a long and low 

melodious note, 
A softly sliding, wavy curve of sound, 
In tremulous uncertainty 
From songster half asleep, 
And faintly thrilling with the pulse of coming 

spring. 
It melted away in night, a slight, elusive breath. 
Quite fit for that fine ear which heard the growing 

of the grass. 

It came again and many times again. 

And at far distant intervals; 

And now with tiny, tentative roulades and timid 
breaks, 

In haunting sweetness like heavenly higher notes 

Of violin, so tender and unutterable; 

The very soul of gentlest love and longing: 

Then thrilling sweeter still and clearer yet, 

And sweeping through a fuller curve of song, always 
most soft and low. 

That flowed on for a moment and each time 
was lost 

In rushing winds and waters, their long pulsa- 
tions intermingled 

In throbbing and receding waves; 

Mighty recurrent waves of sound, half-silences, 
and lingering sleep. 



46 



A COBWEB OF PALE FIRE 

The round, low-lying moon of early morn 

Had reached its fullest splendor, and then shot 

its beams 
All through and through the branches of a tall 

young pine, 
And lo! a miracle; as if they were transformed 

into the web 
Of some gigantic spider, who for once 
Had laid aside all laws of weaving webs. 
And in confusion thrown the threads across; 
Then with a flaming torch had touched 
The last frail, lacy, lovely mesh with glittering 

sparks and lines 
Of palest golden fire. 

TO THE BLUE RIDGE MOUNTAINS 

Farewell! but not for long; I come again to thee! 

Blue, heavenly blue, are thy far distant hills. 
And distant far the heart that turns to thee; 
No siren songs borne drifting on light wind 
Nor beckoning arms that gleam through sunlit spray 
Were ever soft-alluring as thy waving lines, 
Tender, ineffable, mysteriously fair. 

One who has long-time breathed the rarer breath 
Of thy sweet air, fresh from the winds of heaven, 
That thrills the blood like draught of amber wine, 
Or dwelt beside thy forest broidery 

47 



Of myriad blooms flushed with the rose of dawn, 

Loved thy primeval hemlocks and thy pines, 

And thy great laurels in the shadowy ways. 

Glistening with silver light beneath the moon; 

Heard the wild, merry plash of mountain streams. 

And wakened to the fluting u-o-lee 

Of brown wood thrushes answering to the morn: 

One who has climbed thy lofty mountain tops. 

Sat with creative powers a little space 

And seen the home whence wandering clouds go 

forth; 
Watched the sharp lightnings flash from peaktopeak. 
The chasing shadows and the shifting lights 
Play on thy granite walls and verdant slopes. 
Until the eye most gently led along 
Rests yonder on the wide, unnumbered waves 
Of distant hills, like far-off summer seas: 

O such a happy one. 

Who for these many years has lived with thee 
And loved thee thus, may say to thee farewell 
But for a time: the soul that leaves thee now on 

wings of haste 
Will be drawn back to thee again, as wandering bird 
Returns to chosen haunts while life doth last. 

Thou fadest from my sight; 
Home, love, and distant hills all melt aAvay 
In softest lines of heavenly blue. 
Farewell, O dearest hills, but not for long; 
My heart turns still to thee; farewell, I come again ! 
48 



DEAR MOTHER NATURE, 
TAKE ME BACK 

Great mother of us all, whose boundless state 
Of rare delights and treasured golden lore 
Thou ever dost reveal to those beloved, 
Sweet mother, hear my cry, take me once more 
On thy dear, cradling breast that in the days of 

yore. 
Those long-remembered days, has pillowed soft 

thy child: 
O mother, mother dear, 
Who once was always near, 
Why hast thou cast me off and why forgot ? 
The flowers have ceased to bloom for me, the 

birds sing not. 
The trees no longer whisper, and the stones 
And little streams, they vdll not speak to me: 
Thy child is sick at heart and wearied and dis- 
traught. 
All things have failed me now, all come to naught. 



49 



Dear mother Nature, take me back and hold 

me fast; 
Let wild, soft eyes 
Keep kindly watch in mild surprise, 
Let fine, sweet winds of heaven sing faint airs 
Around my head; let fragrant pines that cast 
Long, cooling shadows breathe their resinous 

breath 
Of healing near; 



50 



Blue sky and starry night, 

The moon's pale, strange, transfiguring Hght, 

Let them shine out and drive away all darksome 

fear: 
Thus cradle me and hold me fast. 
And so I shall be thine at last. 
With listening ear close to thy heart until that 

day 
When, earth to earth in still embrace, I shall be 

thine alway. 



51 



EARTH SONGS 

Fear, sorrow, fain, — they shall hut pass; 
Joy comes, but withers like the grass; 
What then remains? — remains the soul. 
Still striving toward the final goal. 



Memory 

Within the unknown boundaries 
Of an enchanted land, oh! far away, — 
And looking out on sunny shores 
Where white-foamed waters play, 
Dim caves are faintly sounding 
Sweet echoes from a bygone day. 



53 



EARTH SONGS 



55 



LIFE AND LOVE 

The springs of Life and Love lie deep, 

They have one source; together shall those waters 

ever rise, 
Together flow; for Love is Life and Life is Love. 
The love of woman or of man. 
The love of God or love of child or love of race; 
The love of good or even love of ill, 
Which often is the love of good but gone astray; 
The love of birds and beasts, of the fresh earth 
So old from everlasting, yet so young 
With swift heart-beatings of eternal youth; 
Or love of home and place, of sky and sea; 
Or love of toil, the toil of body or of brain, — 
Or love of children of that toil. 
The dear results of labor, pain-begotten, 
Or shadow-children of the brain and heart; 
Or love of visions always flitting on 
Beyond our grasp, and after which we ever run 

and pant 
With aching arms outreached to clasp them close. 
That ever us elude: 

These our heart's Loves are but our Life; 
Life without Love is Life-in-Death, 
Love without Life, — that cannot be, for Love 

is part of Life, 
Love intermixed and unresolvent, thrilling, puls- 
ing with the blood. 
Love breathing with the breath, unconquerable. 
Love all-enfolding, interpenetrating, informing 
the living spirit of all things, 
57 



Here, heretofore, and ever after 
Through eons yet to come. 



THE DEVIL'S HUNTING 

The devil rides out a-hunting to-day 
With his hounds and servitors; 
Their fangs are lusting for the feel of flesh. 
They are hot with desire to snare and enmesh 
My feet in their nets, their thirst to slake 
In my heart's red blood; to rend and break, 
To crush and slay as the devil may. 
The devil and all his servitors. 

I will hie me forth to a tender wood 
Where the shade is kindly and the light is good. 
The light that falls in small gold coins 
On beds of moss and banks of myrtle. 
Fit for Maid Marian in her green kirtle. 

I'll seat me within a fairy ring 

Mid a circle of scented fern. 
And the devil may ride and twist and turn. 

But never will he learn 
The slightest trace' 
Of my velvet -green, deep hiding place; 
For the little birds that are on the wing. 
The little birds that light and sing. 
They weave a circle in and out. 

Bird magic, there's no doubt; 
58 



A curtain of fine flutterings, 

And soft, cool whir of silver wings, 

A murmur of heavenly things, 

With flashes of golden eyes 
And gentle looks of kind surmise. 
Songs and trills and shivers of bliss, 
So sweet that the angels would not dare miss. 

This curtain of sight and motion and sound 

Falls around 
From blue sky above to mossy ground, 
And the devil cannot ride within. 
The bluejay drops his feather before 

The vine-embowered door; 
When His Honor sees that, he may not pass, — 

Sure sign for him, alas! 
That he may turn back the way that he came. 
With his hounds and his servitors and his evil name. 
To do his hunting and rend and slay 
On another day 

And another way than this. 

THE SINGING MONK 

It was a legend old that like green moss 
Clung round the cloistered walks and gardens fair. 
Where long, long years ago the singing monk, 
Whose heart was love and voice was winged joy. 
Sang on until he passed from mortal sight. 

His soul was filled with beauty of all time 
And all things of all lands were his; for him 
59 



Old Pan played low the pipe while nymphs did dance, 
Arcadian shepherds fluted to their sheep, 
And festal feet pressed out the willing juice 
From purple grapes ; for him were blossoming buds 
And nesting birds, and all the sweet delights 
Of ever changing year; earth, air, and sea 
Poured wealth of hidden treasure at his feet. 
Until his happy soul, too full of bliss. 
Cast bonds of silence off and bourgeoned forth 
In long-restrained song, like century plant. 
That after many years of patient growth 
At last is crowned with bloom. 

So while he trod 
The quiet closure of the garden ways 
Or labored tenderly with distant vines. 
And laboring, ever sang unto the earth 
And sky in soaring notes, exultant, sweet. 
Like nightingale when singing to the rose, 
The other monks would cease from barren toil 
To hear the strains that stole away their hearts, 
And filled them with a new, mysterious thrill 
Not often found in monkish orisons. 

And so he sang, and singing, disappeared. 
The far sounds floating back from sunlit trails 
Of mist as he went on. Since then, whene'er 
A nightingale in his excess of joy 
Fills all the fragrant, palpitating space 
Of the still night with liquid melody. 
The listener near ofttimes will cross himself. 
And whisper low, "It is the singing monk." 
60 



THE SEEKER 

All the days, 

Far wandering she went, with wide, sweet look, — 

Heart-set upon the weary, immemorial search 

For that which is not here. 

That claims the Earth-born, spirit-led; — 

While ever winds blew cold. 

And blinding mist drove on her eyes. 

But now, even this hour. 

She fell upon the open way that streamed awhile, 

A narrow lane of light from Pleiades, 

For that we loved her well and longed to keep 

her face. 
We drank to her in cup of rue 
And sped her on with tears, 
The deep, slow chiming of the bells, and, 

thickly strewn, 
The fragrant flowers of grief. . 
How she fared, 

Whether the golden apples of the Hesperides 
Or ruby blaze of Sarigreal rewards her quest 
(For she was bred of Earth and Flame), 
We have not heard. 

ONLY IN DREAMS I SEE THEE 

In dreams I may possess thee, 
In dreams my heart is thine; 

In dreams thy soul comes near me 

And answers back to mine. 

61 



Only in dreams I see thee, 
Thou art not of the earth; 

These arms shall never clasp thee, 
No land has given thee birth. 

Thou art a shape of hopes and loves, 

A vision of the air, 
A frame of high imaginings. 

Of tenderness and care. 

No form compact of mortal flesh, 
No locks with golden gleams, 

Can ever hold my heart away 

From this dear maid of dreams. 



A ROOM IN JUNE 

A place of sifting sunshine, gold-green lights 
That play with shadows; of moon-haunted nights; — 
The heart of peace and rest; 
A cool, green, leafy nest 
Of vines uplifting in the wind that blows 
And carries with it sweetness from the rose. 
The spicy, silvery-carmine rose of June; 
Sweetness that ever is in tune 
With flute-like melody of song 
At dawn-time, even-time, and all day long 
From brown wood thrushes in the thickets near; 
Dear, gentle birds that have not learned to fear, 
Dear song from heart of joy close to a tear. 
62 



TULIPS 

In brave array they stand serene; 

Nor heat nor cold, nor &e of frost 
Disturbs their free and radiant mien; 

Through all spring's cruel holocaust 
No spot has marred their silken sheen. 

Their shape is like a Grecian vase, 
A curve of beauty, fine and bold, 

Suggesting by its subtle grace 

Long-buried urns now worn and old. 

Rare keepsakes from that elder race. 

Their leaves are wavy like the sea. 
Their color as the heart of flame; 

Through weary days they speak to me 

Of that fair garden whence they came. 

Of days that nevermore may be: 

Of vines upon a sheltering wall, 

A long, straight path, the scent of box; 

Of gracious women, stately, tall. 

And gossamer girls with flying locks, — 

Young butterflies; — ah! past recall. 

And still they sway on slender stalk. 
And with a subtle air retrace 

The beauties of that garden walk, 

Restore that lady's winsome face. 

Her starry eyes, her sparkling talk. 

The maidens in bewildering grace, 

The glamour of that garden walk. 
63 



LIFE 

The skies are blue, the boughs still green. 

The vines with crimson drest. 
The birds are singing in the trees, 

My heart sings in my breast; 
But the winds that stir among the leaves 

Fill my soul with a faint unrest: 
For now the winds tear down the leaves, 
They sweep and swirl and scatter them. 

They work their own behest; 
And the thoughts that flit across my brain 

Fill my soul with a deep unrest. 

The year is fair, the year is ripe, 

But the year will soon be dour; 
November rains will soon fall fast. 

Her skies no longer lure: 
And youth is gone; — with hidden face, 
As one who yields no further grace. 
The wraith of age inexorable 

Slips by with flying feet. 
Swift as the blast that whirls the leaves. 

Chill as November sleet. 

As this gray specter flees from sight 

Dark sadness falls like rain, 
And sudden questions pierce my heart; — 
Will age be cold and drear as night, 
A gloom which sets the soul apart, 

Dead joys, lost hopes, and bitter pain. 
Or a thrice blessed presence bright, 
64 



A spirit fair, whose inner light 
Time strives to dim in vain ? 

A crimson leaf still hangs atwirl; 

The winter boughs have birds 
That flit and preen, and chirp and sing 

Songs sweet as any words; 
So the harsh winds may rave and rack, 

My soul sings with the birds. 
December skies are often blue, 

December clouds are fair; 
And farther still the eye can reach 

Through winter's purpling air. 

O life is good, and life is sweet, 

Her willing hands are full of dower; 
Her gifts, she cannot take them back; 

More years mean greater power. 
So hail to her and all she brings. 

Love, sorrow, joy, and wider vision; 
Drink health to life in life's clear wine, 

And toss the dregs out in derision! 

O WIND FROM WESTERN SKIES 

Song 

O wind from western skies. 
Blow over the grass-scented meadows low; 
In faint, rosy clouds the day now dies, 
With ripples of sound the small brooks flow; 
My lady comes, 
My love so sweet. 
Blow strains of fine music around her feet, 
65 



Let every elfin breeze 
Float petals down from blossoming trees 
Where the white clovers dwell with the golden 

bees; 
Blow a morrow of sunshine through the quiver- 
ing air, 
Bring hither kind joy, nor remember dull care. 

Wild winter winds, blow fast 
Through raging storm, through snow and 

rain ; 
Sweep all before your mighty blast. 
Leave wreck and terror in your train: 
My lady dear, 
Thou art so near. 
All folded safe and warm within my arms and 
heart, 

'Tis sunshine of the summer where thou art: 
Blow on, wild winds, ye cannot reach our nest. 
Your threatening terrors do not pierce my 
breast. 

Blow, winds, and do not rest. 
And weep, sad winds, that Death has found 

our nest; 
The bough was broken and the bird has flown : 
Draw nigh and wail and sigh about the hearth 
so lone. 

All ye that hither come, 
Bow low the head, 
My lady's dead, 
66 



Like pale, closed violets are her soft eyes; 
Down deep in the cold earth she lies. 
Under the heavy earth, 

Who once was warm 
And sheltered from the storm: 
The birds that sang erewhile have now forgot to 
sing. 

The flowers no longer bloom and joy has fled; 
Grieve, mournful winds, that time has given 

you birth. 
And pray, ye sobbing pines, — my lady's dead. 

COMPREHENSION 

Smile of lip and gleam of eye. 
Love an instant passing by, 
Comprehension drawing nigh. 
Now or never, who can seize it, who can find it. 
With what subtle chains of feeling hope to bind it. 
Hold this sparkling, thrilling moment as it flies ; — 
Words that quiver, thoughts that burn, 
Heart revealing, man to man. 
Will that moment ne'er return ? 
Bind it, keep it, ye who can. 
Gone forever like the flash of summer seas 
Or the silver edge of morning on the trees: 
Ray of light and gleam of eye. 
Rare, swift moment passing by. 
No, they never will return; — 
Nature is a hopeless cheat. 
Hearts and eyes may not repeat. 
67 



THE COMING GUEST 

One dolorous year and a day 

Since Happiness went away, 

When the skies dropped down in leaden gray; — 

What sorrow none may say. 

But now, since yesterday 

(Sad Heart, O look for rest), 

In panic, dark-browed Grief, 

The ever ravening guest. 

Makes ready to flee away; 

For this pale, ashen jade, the unconsidered thief 

Of iridescent hours, of malefactors head and 

chief, 
This tattered, sullen tramp of Hell, 
This dour, unbidden guest knows well. 
In all her shame and late distress. 
That such as she with Happiness 
May never hope to dwell. 

For now, since yesterday, 
I know (the wonder, who may say ?) 
That Happiness comes again this way: 
For I hear the sound of her feet. 
She is coming with step more fleet 
Than the coming of April rain. 
Awaking the buds that have lain 
Under the wintry sleet; 
And I hear the rush of her wings 
As the murmur of waters afar, 
68 



As the carol of a bird that sings 
In the dawn to the morning star; 
And I see the blessed light that springs 
From the rose and pearl of her heavenly wings. 
That softly gleam like a silver bar 
As she comes to me from a land afar. 

She is coming, so fleet, so sweet. 

And I may enfold her again 

And kiss her elusive feet. 

That fly from the sons of men; 

I may hold her an hour and a day, — 

If longer, who may say? 

For her faith is but vain 

As the flash of the April rain, 

And her wanderings follow afar 

The trail of that errant star 

That comes and goes 

With the year and the snows; 

Though I coax her she may not stay, 

Not even an hour and a day! 

THE VOICES 

One is singing all the night long, 
One is calling in the wind song, 
One is waiting all the day long. 
Crying, "Come away!" 

O the longing and the grieving, 
Heart of me, 'tis soon I'm leaving, 
69 



O the weary night deceiving, 
O the weary day! 

For the restless heart of sorrow 
Finds no solace in the morrow, 
Finds no joy the night can borrow 
From the sullen day. 

Voices rustling in the green leaves. 
Voices murmuring when the night grieves, 
Voices sobbing where the sea heaves 
Its white, quivering breast. 

They are whispering in the pine trees. 
They are wandering on the green leas, 
They are moaning from the far seas. 
Crying sore distrest. 

One is calling all the night long, 
And I'm leaving with the wind song, 
All the way the fireflies dim throng, 
Leading to the rest 
On the earth's cold breast. 

AN OLD GARDEN 

Thou old-time garden spot, from what fair land 
Of memories dim dost thou come back to haunt 
My soul with visions of thy peaceful ghosts 
And all thy dear enchantments long since past ? 
Before me rise in faint, recurring shapes 
The mysteries of thy labyrinthine paths, 
70 



Thy beds of round and crescent moons, box-edged. 
And sweet with scent of other days and years; 
With masses of cool hyacinths within, 
Blue violets that play at hide-and-seek, 
And lily-of -the- valley's hanging bells; 
Forget-me-nots that dream of love and truth 
Near jeweled musk that breathes of Araby the 

blest. 
And crimson-spotted lilies brought from far Japan. 

Snapdragon old and crown imperial 

Were there, with monkshood grave and aster gay, 

Soft foxglove and the wholesome marigold. 

And polyanthus meek though velvet-gowned; 

While close beneath the thickset, sheltering hedge 

Of arbor- vitae green, crept myrtle banks 

And southernwood, lad's love of men and maids. 

Fair borders stretched their fragrant lengths along 
Where mignonette and pale moss rose did grow. 
With columbine, the honey-spurred, and balm 
Beloved of wandering bees, and hollyhock 
In silken dress; these were the old-time blooms 
Whose ever swiftly changing colors made 
The long and bright procession of the year: 
And often midst these flowers, like butterflies. 
Were many children of the village, free 
To breathe fresh odors to their hearts' delisrht. 
And hold their little hands out to be filled 
All full and running over with these sweets. 
Beyond were orchards, heavy with their fruit, 
71 



And grassy meadows sloping to the streams 
That ran, twin threads of silver, through the green, 
And every morning offered up their praise 
In mists that rose to heaven; 

While in the heart 
Of this new budding growth, this throbbing life. 
The owner of these purest summer joys. 
That white haired man of will inflexible 
And sad religion of most austere mold. 
Blossomed with love of flowers and tender youth 
As you have seen some dark gray granite cliff 
All fringed with drooping ferns and starry sprays 
of white. 

CAVALIER AND PURITAN 

The Cavalier was debonair. 
And not for him was jealous care, — 
The passing moment was too fair; 
His hopes and loves, his joys and woes, 
Were like a full-blown damask rose; 
The tides of life ran swiftly there, 
Rose-red they blushed on cheek and flower. 
The Puritan, sternest of men. 
Though solemnly the passing hour 
Tolled Life and Death from tall church tower. 
Though winter moons might come and go, 
For him the springtime breathed again 
And flowers of love bloomed rarely then. 
The while he watched the mayflowers blow 
All rosy -sweet by a bank of snow. 
72 



BELOVED GHOSTS 

Dear, silent ghosts of sounds that come no more. 
The dying footfalls on the echoing floor, 
Dear, shadowy people ever gliding through 
Deserted haUs and fading from our view; 
They wander in and out, finger on lip. 
Dim forms inscrutable, that cannot slip 
One little word, only a longing gaze, 
For all remembrance of earth's tender ways 
They dwelt among, those other happy years; 
A tremulous sigh, thin gleam of pearly tears. 
Light sorrow mid their joy that past all reach 
Are human love, soft tones of human speech: 
Then on through distance gray, through waver- 
ing wall, 
They fade, like olden song with dying fall. 

Fair, spacious chambers stand in loneliness. 
Where sweet bells faintly tolled lure from duresse 
Those evanescent shades of filmy air 
That crowd in weaving, shimmering throngs, 

most rare 
Presentment of the forms held safe apart 
Within the close-shut petals of the heart, 
— Like honey-bee in center of a rose. 
Well guarded from each wanton wind that blows, — 
Where we may keep the holiest and the best. 
Those who have ceased from toil and found 

their rest: 
Yet still they strive with tender, wistful arms, 
73 



And longing look and quivering alarms. 
To reach us, fold us in beloved embrace. 
As we fold them and find but hollow space. 

Far sounds of ancient harp, and, long-time mute. 
The voice of spinet and of silver flute, 
The song of maiden slumbering by the stream 
Whose gentlest flow may not disturb her dream. 
The sacred lullaby from mother-heart 
Of heaven-born child in manger laid apart. 
Fragments of prayer first said at mother's knee. 
The little dreams, falling from dreamland-tree. 
These, lightly floating, trembling through the air. 
Without, within, beyond and everywhere. 
Are lost in night with fading forms so dear; — 
Only frail cobwebs, empty doorways here, 
Cold, watery shafts of moonlight through the 

panes. 
Dear footfalls vanishing like springtime rains. 

MY SAINT: C. L. C. 

The still, soft splendor of thy face, 
Like diamonds set in platinum, 

With mildest sparkle, winning grace, 

Gleams out in pale moonbeams that come 

To play within thy silver hair 

And flow in glittering halo round, 

While with caress the charmed air 

Moves gently by without a sound. 
74 



Thy perfect head, — O blessed sight. 

Like some sweet saint with loving eyes, — 

In beauty shines upon the night, 

Where light against the shadow lies. 

The small, straight nose is comely yet, 
The tender mouth breaks in a smile. 

The crowding years may still forget 
The peace upon that brow awhile. 

In slender shape thy spirit fine 

Burns clear through every glowing curve. 
Like silver lamp in holy shrine 

Of alabaster, set to serve 

Gray pilgrims praying in the night. 

Dust-worn and laden with their grief: 

* * * 

O lovely pilgrim, heaven's light 

Has given thy sorrow glad relief: 

O fair and sacred one, Christ love 

Thee ever as thou hast loved me, 

And may he always kindly watch 

The days that lie 'twixt me and thee. 

THE VICTORS 

The wind is singing, for the night is o'er. 
The night of battle and the tempest's roar; 
The bells are ringing, for the night is done; 
75 



Now praise to Jesu, and his name adore! 
With the salt foam dripping and wounded sore. 
Death's pale sea-riders forevermore 
Are driven afar, and the fight is won. 

The bells are ringing, and the snow-white shore 
Is just beyond, and the opal door 
Is open wide in the dawning sun. 

The night is fleeing, the day begun, 

The hordes of Evil swiftly run. 

And the victors kneel on the golden floor. 

On the golden rim of the snow-white shore; 
And they ofl^er up their praise before 
The face of him who forevermore 
Is Light in darkness. Moon, and Sun. 

The wind is singing on the curving shore, 
For the hills of morning are just before, 
And the breakers dash on the sunlit floor; 
O wild sea horses of wreck and gore! 
You may leap and strain, but nevermore 
Will you reach the knights, whose battle is done. 

The castle walls crown the hills that are won, 
The walls are shining in the ruddy sun. 
The palms are waving by the crystal run. 
And the victors march through the opal door. 

The wind is singing, for the night is o'er. 
The bells are ringing from the curving shore, 
76 



The palms are waving by the opal door, 
And the knights are crowned, for the fight 
is won. 

CONFESSION 

Dear Lord, we daily cry to thee 

x\s beggars asking alms. 
Always imploring thee to fill 

Our empty, uplifted palms; 

Continually we turn to thee 

From each hour's wrong and blight, 

As children to kind parents flee 
For refuge from affright. 

We chant our litanies of wo. 

Forgetting in our pain 
That streams of countless blessings flow, 

Free as the gentle rain. 

Thy pardon, Lord, we now beseech, 

And may we ever raise 
Altars within our willing hearts 

On which to offer praise. 

TWO SOULS 

Two mortals lived upon the earth; 
Their bodies dwelt within one house. 
Their souls were far apart; faults little worth 
The heeding, and ever, from Love's birth, 

77 



Dull, stammering speech, thoughts held in 

thrall 
Of long accustomed silence, buiit a wall 
High as the heavens between. 

Two souls met in the upper air 

And stood transparent; to their gaze 

Each to the other then laid bare 

All feelings oft concealed; thoughts jQashed 

swift rays 
Like lines of fire at set of sun. 
Said one: 

"Thou art that soul for whom, those days 

On earth, I long did seek and wait, 

With yearnings lone, unutterable; my chosen 

mate 
Decreed from time's beginning; now, though 

late. 
My heart has found its bliss." 

The other answered, "Down below. 

Through all the saddened years. 

So full of hopes and fears and tears, 

Under the rooftree of one house 

We two have dwelt together, nor did know 

That joy stood unrevealed between, 

Waiting to grant the bliss 

Which our lone, sundered hearts did miss.'* 



78 



THE JERUSALEM CHAMBER 
OF THE SOUL 

The days that pass, pass on again, o'erfull of 

moil and strife, 
That struggle old with things of earth that men 

at times call life; 
Like hapless ants disquieted that hurry to and fro 
And clasp their burdens tight, nor think to let 

them go, 
So clasp we close our daily cares, nor ever let 
Them grant surcease of one swift moment's fret. 
Lest we might happy be. 
And with our souls go free. 

As some frail, tender bird, borne down at last. 
Is beaten low to earth by angry blast, 
Or torn by ravening dogs till plumy wing 
Can never rise again nor sweet throat sing; 
So like this piteous bird in cruel case. 
Outstripped and broken in life's heartless race, 
The lone white spirit that dwells apart within 
Is torn and rent by the black hounds of sin 
And care and trouble, greed and lust for gold, 
Strife and deceit and misery untold. 

O waiting angel of most gentle peace, 
Come fluttering swiftly down with kind release; 
Brood like a mother dove with sheltering wings 
Until the wounded spirit soars and sings. 



79 



In some Jerusalem Chamber of the soul. 
Long years forgotten, most remote and fair, 
Take thine abode. Wide open to the golden air 
Its eastward windows quickly throw; let in 
Sweet murmuring thoughts like bees in fragrant 

linn. 
The heaven's light, the long, low, slumbrous roll 
From wash of far white waves in the eternal sea, 
The Sea of all things hoped for Yet-to-Be. 

SHADOW DANCE 

Fear, sorrow, pain^ — they shall but pass; 
Joy comes, but withers like the grass; 
What then remains? — rem,ains the soul. 
Still striving toward the final goal. 

The light swings by, the torchlights fall 
In golden flare upon the wall; 
With wavering dance the shadows all 
Fling lacy weavings on the wall. 

They follow, follow, — forms untold, — 

In arabesque on walls of gold. 

In slender trellised arbors old. 

In strange grotesque of human mold. 

Soft, wistful shapes of grace aspire. 

In beauty as a flame of fire. 

Dim shadows of all earth's desire. 



80 



The shadows fall like quivering rain. 

They pass and come and pass again; — 

Seize them! put forth your strength amain! 

For pleasure, lust of eyes, detain 

This beautiful, fleet shadow-rain: 

— As well to hold the wandering strain 

Of song that musically drips 
In mellow sound from those red lips. 
As light that from the finger slips. 
Or shadows ever in eclipse: 

Light that, eluding, swiftly goes. 
Shadows that melt like wreath of snows. 
Vanishing as the wind that blows 
The pale, strewn petals of the rose. 

Hold fast the shadows of the night, 
Or clasp that shimmering stream of light, — 
Then hope by wish or will of might, 
Love's divination, blessed rite. 

To hold the spirit of thy friend, 
That lone and fearsome thing to bend. 
Or dream with it thine own to blend; — 
A flitting shadow to the end. 

It comes to meet thee as the light. 
It vanishes into the night; 
Elusive, glides within the sight, 
Then steals away in mad affright. 
* * * 

81 



Slow winding with the rhythmic grace 
Of sacred dance on antique vase, 
Mysteriously the shadows trace 
Their silent way and changing place; — 
Now faster, wilder in the chase, 
With love-lit or averted face. 

Quick! see their endless, whirling dance; 
Blithe Song and Laughter, faery Chance, 
Sorrow and Pain and Circumstance, 
Dark, venomed Hate with dripping lance. 
And leprous 111 in grim advance. 

Again they come, again they pass; 
Dear Love and Faith and Hope, — alas! 
No more than moonlight on the grass 
Hold we these shadows as they pass. 

Young Joy comes piping at thy call. 
With straight-limbed maidens, fair and tall; — 
But trooping shadows, phantoms all. 
Just passing shadows on the wall. 

Black Lies, the toad, with monstrous sprawl. 
Iron-handed Death, to hold in thrall 
That which thou worshipest, thine all, — 
Nothing but shadows on the wall. 

* * * 
What ill-bred fantasy is here ? 
What fateful Dance of Death is near? 
But whirhng phantoms, — never fear. 
For Life is what you make it, dear, 
82 



And Death is what you make it, too: 
Sweet Life, with Hope forever new. 
The Christ to follow, love the true. 
Stern Hate defying, with the blue 

That shines above, it will suflSce, 
And thus we find our Paradise. 
Through generations, at a price 

We make our Heaven and Hell. O maid, 
With look of dreams, yet unafraid. 
Let not your courage be betrayed. 
That ancient, transitory shade. 
Older than Eve! the lights that fade 
In dusky glooms on yon green glade 

Are not more keen to pass. Be bold. 
Though cruel, fleeting shades more old 
Than earth, than driven mists more cold. 
Steal dancing by the walls of gold 
And disappear, still we hold 

Our Heaven in hand; guard well: the drear 
And dun, sad skies grow bright, we hear 
Songs of the future drawing near. 
The bonds are broken; Self and Fear, 

Like trooping shadows, flee before 
The Light that broadens more and more. 
While Death is but an Open Door 
Through which with winged bird we soar. 
S3 



THE CONSTANT LOVERS 

/. The Lament 

Come back to me, sweetheart, in the wild gray 

dawning, 

When the wind shrills by in the pale yellow light, 

Or come with the mist cloud that walks in the 
night ; 
For long have we wandered, in morning, in 

gloaming, 
Far down the green forest ways hand-in-hand 

roaming. 

But now thou art gone in thy beauty and might. 

And the wind harps are mournful that wail 
on the night. 

Down through the still valleys long were we 
straying, 
Over wind-swept hill places when skies were 

star-bright. 
By rivers that sang and through meadows of 
light; 
Through the snow-wreaths of winter, in the 

spring's happy Maying, 
Ever onward together where the west winds were 
playing. 
Hearing faintly Earth voices, fine runes of the 

night, 
Singing softly Earth heart songs, low sounds 
of delight. 



84 



O where art thou, sweetheart, and where may I 

find thee ? 

In the wild, raging storm or under the pine, 

Beneath the warm earth or by lonely wood 
shrine ? 
Art thou lost in the darkness, does the noonday 

glare blind thee, 
Art thou under the waters, have the cold waves 

confined thee 

In their prison so deep, below ripples that shine ? 

Art thou held in the night by wan spirits malign ? 

Thou wilt come again, sweetheart, in the wild 
dawning; 

Why art thou still silent, why givest no sign ? 
Though yonder pale star be the last home of 
thine. 
Yet soon I shall find thee, in morning, in gloaming. 
Soon through the deep forest again we'll be 
roaming; 
By the wandering stream, by the sea's tossing 

brine. 
Wherever thou art, thou art mine, thou art 
mine! 

11. The Search 

Through forests immemorial. 
By reedy fen, in meadows pied, 
Under the silence of the stars. 
Across the lonely desert wide, 
85 



I long have sought, I cannot find; 

Only the soughing of the wind 

Breathes answer from the waste unkind. 

Beneath the wings of Night I go 
To that far, frozen, glittering field 
Where icy caves blue shadows throw, 
Where streams of gold forever flow; 
Or where the lone Himalayas yield 
Strange vision from their crests of snow: 
Then will I search through unknown seas. 
In deep abysms of the earth; 
Or do fair cities, heavenly leas. 
In all the dim, unreckoned girth 
Of Space Beyond, where stars have birth. 
Hold thee a happy, wilHng guest ? 
Onward I go in sorrowing quest. 
Like wind-blown leaf fast driven by. 
With Pain and Terror often nigh; 
Still ever on until the end. 
Though Joy may be an unknown friend, 
Though grief of years my brow has lined; 
But when and where shall wandering feet 
Bring me where Joy and Sorrow meet. 
Where rest my bleeding heart may bind, 
Heart of my Life, when shall I find ? 

MELANCHOLY 

Sad, darkened pathways, faintly traced, 
After the sun of joy has set, 
86 



Thread troubled vistas, interlaced 

With tortuous limbs that never let 

The light of hope shine through. 

Despoiled of foliage that once graced 

Their ravined, dying boughs; the rue 

Of bitterness all that is ever seen, 

In this most doleful spot, of earth's rich crown 

of green. 
Gray shapes of sorrows and of fears. 
Of memories and of burning tears. 
Haunt shadowy forests dank with dew; 
Dim, silent forms uncertainly flit through 
Between the saddened cypresses and yew 
Planted o'er graves of visions long since dead; 
The croak of the night-raven overhead. 
And crimson drops of blood below 
Expressed from the heart's juices, tell the wo 
Of those who ever this lone way may go. 

Beyond are foul miasms, slimy, creeping things, 

Harsh flapping of great wings 

From strange and songless creatures of the air, 

Rank, noxious weeds of hatred and despair; 

The deadly efflorescences of crime. 

The poisonous, pallid fungi of all time; 

Deluding marsh lights wane; the hollow boom 

is heard 
From some lone bird; while evermore 
A sudden deep and angry roar. 
Or fixed, unwinking glare of cruel eyes 
With following look from out the gloom, 
87 



And moans and sighs and echoing cries. 
Impel the wanderer distraught on to his waiting 
doom, 

Down, down they go, sad souls without relief. 
Each moving on alone in voiceless grief. 
Alone in shadow of their wo, too crushed to 

weep, 
Down to the black and bottomless pools of the 

still deep, 
Its sullen surface undisturbed by any breath, 
Peopled by formless, moveless life-in-death. 
Where poignant sorrow, minished happiness. 
Swift, fleeting joy, and all calamities terrene, in 

the last stress 
Of life and time, obliterate themselves in one 

quick leap 
Beneath the silent waters of oblivion merciless. 

CONTRASTS 

I. Fate 

A waste of lonely waters without a shore. 

Wide, burning desert sands; 

Grim giants that you meet 

With helpless, shaclded hands; 

Deep pitfalls for blind feet; 
The sphinx who sits in silence, and before. 
Straight in your path, the awful cyclone's roar. 



88 



//. God's Care 

The eternal listening of an infinite ear, 

The sweet telepathies of winged minds; 
Soft hovering of airy forms so near. 

The careful weaving of blind destinies; 
Safe sleep at night within a Father's arm, 

A Father's care wherever we may roam, 
With loving hand outstretched to save from harm, 

And silken leading-strings to guide us home. 

BENEDICITE 

For all the ages past 
When life was but asleep. 
When monsters swam the deep 
And held the earth. 
When generations had their birth; 
When forests grave, mysterious, in awful spaces 
vast. 

Reared sculptured pillars through the watery 

air 
Above the floor of rush and fern; 
For thy great palimpsests laid bare 
In rocks reluctant, old and stern, — 
Grim records of heroic mold and slender line; 
For all thy works so manifold, most rich, most 

fine. 
Fires on the altars of our praise shall ever burn, 
O Lord above; praise for this wondrous world 
of thine. 

89 



For all thy stars so fair 
That shine through summer night, 
For thy swift messengers of light. 
The air, the winds that blow, 
The waves that murmur low. 
For odors sweet and sounds that chime through 

ringing space, 
For butterflies and flowers and birds that sing 

their grace, 
For stately greenwood tree and moss in gTassy 

sward. 
For these thy daily gifts of earth and air, we praise 
thee. Lord. 

With tapestries the world's wide walls are hung. 
Where magic figures faint and bright are woven o'er 
The Web of Days, and shot with threads of 
gold; 
Shapes that depict the fabled mysteries of old. 
And strange, beguiling histories with ardor told 
In musty manuscript and tome; 
The fireside tale of tribes that roam. 
The chants that wandering bards have sung. 
The garnered wealth and store of Time's most 
precious lore 

Since man possessed the earth. 
Warriors and nomads, minstrels and sages, 

Down through long ages 
From tradition's earliest birth, 
Send us the word. For messages of peace and 
sword 

That come to us, we praise thee. Lord. 
90 



For wholesome Toil we render praise, and for 

the zest 
And ardor of accomplishment, and after, welcome 
rest: 

We praise thee for the common joys so sweet 
That gently, like gray doves, oft flutter round 

our feet: 
We praise thee, Lord of Good and 111, for Grief 

and Pain; 
Sad sisters they, but sunshine follows after win- 
try rain. 

As a fond mother chides, then folds her child 

In happy arms of love : 
We praise thee too that out of Sin and Crime 
There spring some flowers of Virtue; that 
above 

The dragon of the slime 
Some bright and strong Saint Michael hovers 
ready for the thrust 

Which makes for the world's betterment; 
and so, 
That all these ministers of Life, most sad and stern. 
Do oft against their lust, 
Which is to rend and burn. 
Serve purposes of thine, and speak thy word 
To heart of man, we humbly praise thee. Lord. 

AND AFTER? 

In that lone house where all things are forgot, 
Where love is turned to dust, 
91 



Where hate is naught but rust, 

Joy unremembered, power and grief forsworn 

That silent house where friends come not, 

Where living from the dead are torn; — 

Look, there he lies. 

Who once beneath her sunny skies 

In joy and beauty walked the earth, 

And ever from his birth 

Of wealth and honor knew no dearth; 

Now in the narrow house, down deep 

Below the strife, below the happiness, the sleep, 

Deaf to Love's piercing cry 

Which cannot wake the dead, 

Unheedful of the echoing tread 

Of friend or foeman passing by. 

Of life no spark, no faintest germ. 

Food for the tree and brother to the worm, 
* * * 

The spirit, once so gay and debonair. 

Through what uncharted seas, what strange, 

dim ether rare, 
Has it explored the way ? Or does it sit 
With sorrow bowed. 
Where fires of remorse are lit 
By torches of old revels ? Or on a loud 
And wailing wind does it pass by 
Dear, well -remembered places with a sigh. 
Still longing for the swift return of morn, 
A hollow ghost, affrighted and forlorn ? 
Perhaps it dwells 
With tender, holy loves of old 
92 



Beside sweet waters flowing to the sea, 

In some enchanted land whose mystic spells 

Of utmost beauty ever hold 

The song of bird, the flower, the tree: 

Or does it delve down far and deep 

For records that the centuries keep. 

Searching through all the heritage of time 

For legend, science, rune and rhyme. 

For knowledge, wisdom, truths untold. 

Even as the miner seeks for gold ? 

What work falls to its lot. 

What days remembered or what time forgot? 

What dawn of love that fadeth not. 

What rose of joy or sad gray rue of grief. 

What calm for restlessness, of pain what quickrelief ? 

The meed of bliss or doom of wo, who knows ? 

That mortal question since the sun first rose 

On man: I wot not; only this, God knows. 

THE SOUL'S QUEST 

This night my soul fares forth alone 

To enter realms of the Unknown: 

My body, which I now deride. 

Once my strong manhood's tower and pride. 

Too long, like a usurping slave, 

Has held my mind beneath the wave. 

Now brought full low, to turn to dust 

It stays on earth, as bodies must. 

My soul, released this unquiet night. 
Flies past the pale and watery light 
93 



Of a thin, aged, waning moon: 

On, on it hastens, late or soon 

To seek through cosmic fields of space 

Beyond the star mists her whose grace 

Of spirit lightly held the rein 

Through the long years, — and not in vain. 

I seek and I shall find her; then, — 

But to break forth in song again. 

Together ever to aspire 

With ever growing hot desire 

To conquer space and time, to read 

The tale of ages, and to speed 

With tireless wing toward regions far, 

Beyond the dim, remotest star. 

SALUT! 

{Alfred Dreyfus; July, 1906) 

Alone before the world he stands, white-haired. 
Pathetic, grand; the patient victim for long years 
Of bitter racial hate, of madness that like a 

tidal wave 
Swept over a great nation: 
The scapegoat on whose inoffensive head 
Was laid the burden of their secret sins. 
By those ill souls of doom now fallen low 
Into the final glooms of deep disgrace; 
At whom the wagging finger of all time 
Shall ever point in deadly scorn. 
94 



And he, who with colossal strength of will 

Kept heart and brain in steady grasp 

Through all the fires of hell. 

And then, pain-scarred and marred, 

Came to the sweet, fresh upper air again. 

Back to the glowing fields of France; 

He, once dishonored, smote upon, but late restored 

To honors manifold, with upright soul rejects 

The passionate satisfaction of revenge. 

His fingers do not itch for any balm of gold. 

His only thought for justice and for France, — 

Still there he stands, heroic, undefiled. 

Fit to receive the waiting honors of the world. 

The world salutes thee, Dreyfus ! thee, too, France ! 

Full many a weary year has her great heart 

Longed for this hour ; her veins throb fast with joy 

At this large reparation, noble though late. 

Sweet joy that France has come unto her own 

again, 
Her kingdom of the Truth, all robed once more 
In goodly garments of unspotted white. 

HORUS EVER WEIGHS THE 
NAKED HEART 

Lo! for these many years I have said 
That naught but bitter fruit could ever come 
From wilding trees and barren soil. 
It is not so. 

Think not that black heredity and sad environ- 
ment 

95 



Shall always drown the soul in mire. 

As one may see a tender flower, most pure and 

fair and white, 
With silken petals frail that tremble to the kiss 

of wandering wind, 
And this flower springing up to heaven's light 

midst trash and filth. 
And closely intertwined with ugly weeds: 

So have I seen a soul 

Rise from the nethermost slime of sin that from 

its birth 
Encompassed it about, till later years 
Brought it to higher ground; — ^for many grades 

there be 
Of misery and dirt and wickedness; — 
And this soul opened out its petals fair 
To every wave of influence from humankind 
And the great heart of nature, so that it grew 
Into a larger purpose, a wider generosity each day, 
An eagerness and thirst for knowledge, a finer 

use of brain 
Applied to daily tasks; a passionate love 
For all the outdoor world, with eye most quick 

to see: 
All this the fruit of barren soil, the flower of 

mire and filth; 
And if some darkening spots defaced its purity, 

what then ? 
If but a single virtue come, hke blossom white. 
From this black ooze, thank God. 
96 



Soul, dare not judge. 

Why look for wide-eyed truth and utter honesty, 

And all sweet charity of speech and every other 
virtue. 

From those who never breathe the upper air? 

One tiny bloom from thence shall far outweigh 

A milhon fruits from richer garden soil. 

Then where art thou, my soul ? 

Why boast thy petty righteousness, but borrowed 
from 

Some line of just forbears, some happy circum- 
stance ? 

Naught will avail to vn-ap thyself in richest robes. 

For Horus ever weighs the naked heart. 

"And On the Fourth Are Men With Groioing 
Wings. " Tennyson: The Holy Grail. 

When once the gods made man 

They put within him eyes that he might see. 

They gave him little hidden wings to grow, 

That he might soar into the sky; 

They placed within his soul a little song, a bird 

within a cage, 
For him to set it loose and float it free 
Upon the willing air of heaven. 

In after days the gods looked down 

Upon the earth to see what they might find : they 

saw 
A swarm of little naked men, all stooped and bent, 
97 



Their eyes fixed on the sand, from which they 

picked 
Small shining particles to hoard with greed, 
And over which, these worthless sands, they ever 

fought and snarled 
With hoarse, discordant sound to gain possession : 
Above them in the air were creatures with great 

wings, 
Wings grown for wrong and ill, for hate and wo; 
Huge forms that made black shadows on the earth; 
Foul shapes they were of dragon-men, 
Forever casting down on men below 
Strange fires that burned and ran 
With fierce and twisting torture like consuming 

fiends. 
And bomb-like balls, that, bursting, spread afar 
The stifling fumes of death. 
Swift mowing down the helpless folk 
As tender grass blades fall before the scythe. 

But now and then among the little men 

Were those who looked not down forever on the 

sand. 
But gazed on the green earth and flowers and trees, 
And with full breath exultant cried 
Unto their fellows, "Lo! the skies are blue;" 
But these were deaf, they would not heed, and 

still they looked 
Upon the sand, nor ever even knew 
How that the great, bright sun shone in the heavens : 
While others then set loose the little songs within 
98 



their hearts. 
Filling in some sweet places the air all full of 

melody 
As if from singing birds : 
A few had grown their wings all shining like the 

light, 
And in the air were fighting with the dragon-men ; 
When these white souls prevailed sweet flowers 

sprang everywhere, 
While some with soaring wings drew down the 

stars ; 
They were but few. 
The gods looked on it all, they could afford to 

wait. 

So time went on; 

And as the gods looked down from age to age 

They ever saw more men that stood upright and 

looked into the sky, 
More men that gazed upon the grass, the trees, 

the stars. 
And fewer fought upon the sands, and fewer 

dragon-men blotted the face 
Of the bright sky with their foul wings ; and little 

bird songs flew about. 
And ever sang themselves in places everywhere; 

and men with flying wings 
Shining as white as drifting clouds went floating 

through the air, 
And there were many such. The gods looked 

on and smiled. 

99 



"Some day," they said, "there will be more. 
We can but wait." 

PEACE ON EARTH 

The kingly splendor of the rising morn 
Ushers the day on which the Christ was born; 
The star is dimmed and set that shone erewhile, 
But soft-eyed Peace with wistful, heavenly smile 
And brooding wings yet hovers o'er the earth 
As in that far-off day of wondrous birth. 
With longing sweet, perpetual, in her embrace 

to fold the world, 
And see in all the teeming lands her silken ban- 
ners fair unfurled. 

CHRISTMAS CHIMES 

Carol 

Sweet as music of the spheres. 
Chiming softly down the years. 
Rang the song in mortal ears, 
Christ is born on earth to-day. 

Ring those happy chimes again, 
Sing those peans now as then, 
Christ has come to mortal men. 
Let celestial trumpets play. 

Crush the hate, the scorn, the strife, 
Love and joy shall spring to life; 
100 



Now shall happiness be rife. 
Peace on earth, good-will to men. 

Christ the Lord comes down to-day; 
In your hearts now let him stay, 
Sing that happy song alway, 
Christ is born to earth again. 

Christ is born on earth to-day. 
Let celestial trumpets playl 
Peace on earth, good-will to men, 
Christ is born to earth again. 

THE HOLY CHILD 

The night was still and white 

When holy Love came down. 

And in the sacred manger laid 

His little shining head. 

To sleep his first soft baby sleep 

In that sweet, lowly bed. 

The Babe, the Wonderful, 

The Lord of Life and Light, 

Forgot his scepter and his crown. 

Forgot the heavenly meadows bright, 

And cooed and smiled and played. 

And gazed in Mother Mary's face, 

With all the lovely baby grace 

And dimpled mirth 

Of any happy child of earth. 

101 



And now the radiant mother holds 
The glory of this wondrous child 
Close to her breast, so warm and bare; 
With gentle arms of love enfolds, 
And veils him with her glittering hair. . 
What shadow of the future lies 
Upon this holy pair? 
And can it be the mother's eyes. 
Eyes of gazelle, so softly mild. 
Grow large with somber, frightened stare, 
And rest upon a vision wild 
Imprinted on the shivering air ? 

Watch kingdoms of the world forsworn. 
The feeding of the multitude. 
The water flushing into wine. 
The stilling of an angry sea; 
The sacred grove, the withered tree, 
The little home in Bethany; 
The Pharisee, who sits in scorn, 
The woman, beauteous and forlorn, 
By love's repentance torn; 
The midnight watch, the thief, the cross, 
Terror and flight and tears like rain. 
The quaking ground, the skies that lower, 
The blackness of the fatal Hour, 
The rending of the Veil in twain. 
Love living, dying, for the world, 
Love's agony for thee and me. 
For mine and thine, — O Love Divine! — 
Love reaching down through endless years, 
102 



Love giving joy, Love quelling fears, 

Love going with us all our days. 

Love leading through the darkened ways. 

O child of heaven. Holy One, 
Desire of Nations come to earth, 
Light of the World and Life of men, 
We hail the glory of thy birth; 
With shepherd and with Eastern mage. 
On bended knees we fall. 
Adore thee, O thou Wonderful, 
Thou everlasting King of Kings, 
And love thee ever best of all. 

QUATRAINS 

I. Threads of Gold 

Is thy Soul's Room most dark with inward strife 
And draped in gloom with tattered grays and old. 

Then turn to glowing day the Web of Life, 
And find it shot with rose and threads of gold. 

II. Time's Arrows 

Time's arrows piercing through the armored hide 

of years 

May often find some vulnerable spot; 

And after careless ease thick fall the tears 
That death on time's fair page should leave one 

bitter blot. 

103 



///. Glorias 

The tender Glorias of the day 

Are morning mist, soft evening air; 

For praise the bluebird's matin lay, 
While bending grasses bow in prayer. 

IV. Promises 

Of fruits whose juices rare rich wines distil 
The swelling buds with ardent prophecies 
are rife; 

And virile prime mature doth oft fulfil 

Fair promises of youth in vernal tides of life. 

V. Tears 

Tears are never far away 
From the light of happiest day; 
Tears that fain would lurk and hide 
Where ethereal joys abide. 



104 



LAUREL LEAVES 



105 



THE SONNET 

To the Masters of Song 

Pray, what may a sonnet be? Frail gossamer 
Of dream-stuff spun by lovers in a night 
To hang forever sparkling on Time's bough; 
Divinely lucent nectar, amber-hued. 
And glowing in a precious jeweled cup, 
Once poured on high Olympus by the gods. 
Who passed it down that men of earth might 
drink. 

A sonnet is an idyl of delight, 
A priceless miniature set round with pearls, 
A laurel wreath, a garden ivy-walled, 
A fadeless blossom in a crystal glass: 

The blooming earth of graves where one may lay, 
With pomp funereal and many sighs. 
Love that is dead and tattered plumes of Hope 
That once were flying wings; a violin. 
The Stradivarius of the world, whose strings 
Are ever the torn heart-strings of a soul 
Whereon are played the rhapsodies of Pain: 
The deathless plaint of Love in thrall, denied, 
The peal of Love Triumphant, the cloud-rent 
Through which there gleams the vision uttermost 
Of Life and Death, of Earth and Hell and Heaven. 



* 
107 



Over the light and stillness swept along 

The thrilling strain, the one supernal note. 
That issued from the silver-fluted throat 

Of some rare singer of enchanting song; 

In breathless quiet sat the listening throng 
To hear those undulations rise and float, 
Celestial sounds as memory ever wrote 

To dwell in lingering echo, sweet and strong: 

So these great lords supreme of Song and Rhyme 
Soared far above their daily happy flight, 
And sang the Sonnet, born of joy and tears, 
Sang it with rapture in the ear of Time 
In all that rhythmic upper air and light, 

To ring forever down the changing years. 

THE POET'S SONG 

The poet crowned with deathless bay. 

Beloved of Aoede, sings 

In tones of many voices like the sea. 

That breathe as full and free 

As the birds' glad greeting to the opening day. 

The morning choral from a thousand throats; 

But while he floats 

With silvery wings 

On the responsive waves of air 

His lambent notes. 

He ever sings one song to me, another song 

to thee: 
And when he strikes the sacred lyre 
108 



As only he may dare, 

His soul aflame with madness of desire 

To reach the universal heart 

Through his inspired art, 

The listening ear of one most thrills 

To the deep, mellow undertones, another 

bends in rapture fine 
To catch the sweet and faintest trills: 
Thus always with these words of thine, 
O poet, though the line 

May chant of love or hate, or work or fate, 
Though thou shalt sing thy song to her 
Who is thy polar star 
And worshiped from afar, — 
Each vibrant heart must be its own interpreter. 

SHELLEY 

O rare, embodied song, 
O dulcet, joyous notes that climb 
Through ardent skies in day's young prime; 
Shakespeare foreshadowed thee that time 
He made the lark to sing at heaven's gate. 
For thee the ancient gods have held high state; 
They found thee by Castalian streams 
And filled thy days with golden dreams, 
To thee they granted bright Apollo's lyre. 
Thy tongue they touched with sacred fire; 
Thee, whom they loved, they slew, 
For that they grudged their gift of thee to men, 
And so, through sea and rainbow flame. 
They drcAV thee upward to themselves again. 
109 



TO SIDNEY LANIER 

Thy golden words flow in, flow out, 

Enrapturing all the air about. 

As sweet and riotously free 

As the mocking bird's wild, happy lay; 

As heavenly high and far away 

As- the voice of wandering winds that play 

Remote from earth in the lone pine tree; 

Near as the kiss of wooing breeze 

From fragrant fern beds where we dream at ease; 

Pellucid as some lake with pools in shadow lying. 

With lingering waves in silver ripples dying. 

Swift, glancing colors, dancing lights, 

Or sparks that softly shine in dark of starry 

nights : 
While all thy song 
The whole day long 
Is rich and full and running over 
With rarest joys for sound's dear lover, 
And flashing with those thoughts that in the 

early morn 
Of moonlit hours in silent peace are born, 
And after in men's hearts lie buried still and deep 
As the wealth of hoarded treasures that the rob- 
ber sea doth keep. 



110 



MACDOWELL'S BROOK 

To the Lady Who Plays (Mrs. J. H. S.) 

Streams celestial lightly run 
With low sound of tears and laughter, 
Crooning bird songs following after. 
While the dancing, smiling sun 
Flashes on the running water. 

Presage of the coming years 
Brushes past the fount of tears. 

Singing winds, first lingering. 
Softly rush on silver wing 
Through lacy boughs hung over all; 
And rocks where little riffles run 
Toss upon the sparkling sun 
Crystal drops that leap and fall. 

Crystal chords of memory 
Smite the air, and faint and die. 



Ill 



SONNETS 



113 



APOLOGY 

"And so," you say, "the sonnet is a little master- 
piece, 

A glowing bit of choice perfection, wrought 

In loving frenzy by the artist's hand; 

Then why do tyros meddle with the Master's 
brush, 

And daub the ivory ? Why tempt the sacred gods 

With air of fine presumption ? " 

First you shall tell to me 

Why wanton children always pluck apart 

The petals of the rose, why boys must fool with 
fire. 

Slim youths and bright-eyed maids play battledore 

And shuttlecock with hearts; wherein doth lie 

The nameless fascination of forbidden fruit; 

Then will I tell to you 

In secret place and under cover of the awful dark, 

With many adjurations and strange words, 

Why tyros play with sonnets. 



115 



FANTASIES 

The burdened air thrills with a vague unrest, 
The little winds know not which way to turn, 
And whimper low; dim fires of desire burn 
With wavering flare and flicker as possessed 
Of elfish longings grievous and oppressed. 
That clutch at the soft heart in wild concern 
For boons to earth unknown, joys yet to learn 
Beyond all joy that life has yet confessed. 
Frail, haunting memories flit through the brain. 
Strange, flying throughts sweeter than summer 

rain, — 
Thin, airy ghosts of days that have not been 
And happy shades of days we may not see; — 
Soul throes and strivings to pierce through the 

din 
And stress of ages past and time to be. 



116 



STRIVINGS 

In dear illusion from the meadows green 
Upsprings the rainbow's arch; the pot of gold 
Is ever on beyond, and hope grows old 
In long pursuit of joy unknown, unseen, 
Of whose bright glory one may only glean 
Soft sparkles and a glimmer; days untold 
The footsteps follow after visions cold 
Of full achievenjent nigh, that mock the keen 
And swift desire; they follow visions fair 
That once within the grasp but fade in air; 
So ever on up wintry steeps the chase. 
And still that radiant jfigure veils her face; 
Still that divine unrest burns in the soul 
That tells of whence we come, whither the goal. 



117 



TWILIGHT 

For thee no more the heat and blinding glare 
Of life's full noon, the sad, fantastic whirl, 
The throngs that press in maddening dance and 

swirl 
Of unrelenting struggle, cruel care; 
Receding far away the trumpet's blare, 
The trampling tread, the din and strife; unfurl 
The flag of thy surrender, and impearl 
Those tears within thy heart : Time will not spare. 
Seek some calm twilight under sheltering eaves, 
Where in soft glooms of Autumn's mellowed leaves 
Dark silence, like a river of delight, 
Flows gently round the unillumined eyes, 
And joys elusive, on the edge of night. 
Come fluttering, flying home as daylight dies. 



118 



PORTRAIT OF MRS. WHEATON, 
BY ALEXANDER 

Thou sittest as thy wont in quiet state, 
Thine eyes down-dropping in reflective gaze; 
Perchance thou dost return through winding maze 
Of hfe's dim path to seek thy long-lost mate, 
Thy friends so well-beloved, who have of late 
With willing steps tried shining, unknown ways, 
And still thou lingerest on the trail of days 
Full of fair joys vouchsafed by kindly fate. 
Where'er thy thoughts may stray, from some 

calm bowers 
Of thy soul's peace there comes a holy light, 
Perhaps from memory's far lands, whose hours 
Are always golden, always sweet and bright; 
Or does the future lend its heavenly grace 
To the soft radiance of thy tender face ? 



119 



THE SEA 
I 

For many years the hills, and now the sea! 
Heart of the elder world, whose rhythmic beat 
Close to the kind Earth Mother's breast, through 

heat. 
Through cold, through solitude and night, flows 

free. 
Flows ever to the swift heart beats of me 
And these thy lovers; in thee the ages meet. 
And Time, the laggard, sits at thy white feet, 
Forgetting all the days in thrall to thee. 
Eternity stooped down to touch thy brow, 
Sang in thine ear her wordless monotone. 
Which thou, in deep, sonorous repetend. 
Soundest unceasingly until the end 
In the waiting ear o' the world, always thine own 
When first the waters found their depths and now. 



120 



n 



Mother of Mysteries, thy secrets keep 
Darkly in hidden places, where the spell 
Of silence hovers round, save what may tell 
Those mutterings and murmurs in thy sleep 
Concerning old adventures of the deep. 
And crimes unguessed, echoes of ancient knell, 
Dim coral treasure caves thou lovest well. 
And gardens of wild beauty, terraced steep 
Down to that under world, where thou dost hold 
Thy galleons and heaps of stolen gold. 
What Viking's funeral flames once lit the West, 
Whose ashes long have strewn thy heaving breast ? 
What dead do nourish thee whom thou hast wed ? 
Nay, let it pass; sirens must have their dead. 



121 



m 



For thou art old and wicked, though most fair, — 

Mistress of wiles; and Helen thou hast seen, 

Thy dimpled waves have smiled on Egypt's queen 

And caught her starry glance, and Sappho's bare 

White arms entreated thee; naught can impair 

Those final charms they lent thee; deathless mien 

Of beauty, lone, inscrutable, serene, — 

Wild song and stormy passion, all are there; 

And so thou art half siren, with a heart 

Throbbing from lost Atlantis; under ban 

Of good and evil; sibyl old thou art; 

Thou only and the voice of violin 

Can utter forth the restless soul of man, 

His wrath, his love, his prayers, his hidden sin. 



122 



IV 



What dim remembrances may yet enslave, 
What subtle reminiscence often thrills 
Along the blue and everlasting hills 
In mighty swell and rhythms of air that lave 
Their brow; what song of deep, resounding wave 
Recurrent sweeps through towering trees, and 

fills 
The homesick heart with longing as it spills 
In splashes of spent sound, from winds that rave 
In upper fields of air; those ancient pines, — 
Their own young little winds that play and run 
Far overhead, are chanting the old lines, — 
The swash of lapping waters in the sun. 
O mountain pine, rememberest thou this day 
Cedars and bays of Maine, cypress of Monterey ? 



123 



The overpowering roar and rush of sound 

Upon the granite crest of Sunset Rock 

Rolls onward with the surge and thundering shock 

Of many a rank of billows come' aground ; 

'Tis but the voice from over waving mound 

Of chestnut trees below that interlock 

In gold and green; Satulah's clouds that mock 

And glower by day, at midnight flow around 

Her slippery crags, an ocean at her feet; 

And when, where wavering sky and earth-line 

meet, 
Wide seas of foothills shimmer in the light. 
The soul, sans care, like ship escaped from night, 
From storm and wrack, with shining sails and 

free, 
Sets out thereon to search infinity. 



124 



VI 



All softly clad, in cloud and light enshrined, 

Dear Range of Blue, what kinship may there be 

Between thy steadfast hills and restless sea ? 

What age-long bond, O sea, yet undefined. 

May hold as strong as chains of iron to bind 

The hills, humanity, the soul of thee. 

In subtly strange, enduring trinity? 

And ever thou dost hold the wandering mind 

Of man, a harp of many strings, whereon 

To play at will a low, mysterious strain, 

Singing thereto seductively upon 

The gamut of his longing and his pain; 

While interlucent waters calmly lie 

'Twixt Time and Earth, and the Eternal Sky. 



125 



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